Snowed in Love
by Aleia Jade
Summary: #Alecfosterspants visited my house instead of Santa. CHRISTMAS  CALLIANN  STYLE.
1. Partridge in a Pear Tree

_In honor of actual!Christmas season, I come bearing my own twelve days of crack. Many thanks to my dealer, recoilandgrace, and to Village Hall, my beautiful noit partner in crime and drug wars. Oh, and thank you LightWoman for explaining Boxing Day._

* * *

BAM BAM BAM. Cal pounded swiftly on Gillian's beautifully decorated wooden door.

"Oi! Love! I called you an hour ago! Aren't you ready yet? It's half eight and we're meeting the governor of Vermont at nine tomorrow."

"Yes, Cal. Coming," Gillian's beautiful melodic voice called out exasperatedly. "You do realize today is the day after Christmas? When people traditionally stay home with their presents and families and eat leftovers instead of driving hours to do work?"

She opened the door, dislodging the sparkling wreath covered in glitter. "And seriously, Cal? We couldn't fly? At least then we could wait until tomorrow."

"Sorry, love." He glanced appreciatively at her fuzzy cream sweater with kittens on it. It brought out the different shades of blonde in her hair beautifully. "Flying's expensive. Also, there's a wind advisory out, and our target destination is an hour drive from the nearest airport, anyway. So we're better off driving."

"Fine. BUT. We're stopping for hot chocolate. Every two hours. And I get control of the radio."

Cal sighed his consent in a great huffy breath. "Fine."

He picked up her sparkling red sequined suitcase and took the black leather purse she shoved into his arms. Gillian had disappeared into the depths of her immaculately decorated house. Just as Cal became concerned whether or not he should plunge in after her, she re-emerged, clutching a giant round tin patterned with little rocking horses and be-ribboned teddy bears.

"Oi! Foster! What _is _that? It looks like a children's book threw up."

"Christmas cookies, Cal! If you won't let me stay in and enjoy them at home, I'm bringing them with us. And you are going to eat some, and they are going to be delicious, and you are going to tell me that they are the best thing you have ever tasted."

Cal just shook his head and muttered about dentists and cavities and something else about eight-year-olds with a sugar addiction. He carried the luggage to his cute little beat-up car as he waited for Gillian to put her coat on and get in.

Two hours later, they made the first promised hot chocolate stop. It had started to snow softly, a beautiful sparkly dusting gently floating down to land in big, fat flakes on eyelashes and noses and mittens. As they walked out of the coffee shop with large cups of steaming liquid, Gillian stuck out her perfect pink tongue and caught three snowflakes on it.

"You know the air's full of pollution, right, love?" Cal questioned as he tried to avoid eye contact. His pupils were dilating furiously; Gillian was just so adorable with her knit navy hat with a pompom on top and big brown mittens. She glowed with an innocence he found marvelous.

Gillian shushed him, throwing out her arms and spinning a little, splashing some of the hot chocolate onto the bright snow. "It hasn't killed me yet."

"Yet being the operative word, love. And goodness sakes, how long have you been eating that stuff?"

Gillian just grinned impishly and ducked into the car. "You should eat a cookie, Cal."

"I think we should get going, Foster."

She reached into the tin and pulled out a sugar cookie snowman, coated with thick blue frosting and smothered with tiny colorful ball sprinkles.

"Look, he's smiling at you. He's delicious." Foster held the cookie out on the palm of her delicate hand the way one would offer an apple to a horse. "Do you start with the head or the body first?"

"I dunno, Foster, how do you start?" Cal picked up the cookie and looked dubiously at it, mentally calculating how high his blood sugar would spike and how long he could put off the inevitable consumption of the little guy.

"Head first. Put them out of their misery. Plus there're more sprinkles on the bottom." Gillian picked up her own cookie, a yellow five-pointed star with lines and lines of orange and yellow sprinkles meeting at the center. "Now eat it!"

Cal shook his head and rolled his eyes, stuffing the cookie into his mouth. Gillian was nearly finished with hers and eyeing the rest of the tin hungrily. Cal clapped the lid back on.

"Now sit back, buckle up and drink your hot chocolate," he admonished. "That's plenty of sugar for a while." _Several days, in fact, _he thought to himself, _but it'll last her at least an hour or two_.

An hour later, after an unusually long period of silence, he glanced over to see her dozing, heels discarded on the floor, feet curled up on the seat, head tucked gently against the edge of the backrest. She looked so beautiful, just like an angel asleep in his car. Sometimes he wondered about her humanity.

And other times, he was well aware of her temper. _No doubts about her reality there, _he smirked to himself and he focused back on the dark snowy road, remembering the tongue-lashing she'd given him after she found out he had a file on every man she'd ever dated. He had no plans of stopping, however. He had a bright orange folder with green labels picked out already for the next one.


	2. Turtle Doves

_Thanks Caramia1984 for the help! And Village Hall. Sparkle!crack._

_

* * *

_It was nearly six when they finally pulled into the parking lot of the larger, less shady-looking hotel. A large yellow neon sign on the wall announced "THE DEW DROP INN." Gillian smirked coyly at the hilarious pun, grabbed her black leather purse, and left the car.

"Oi! Foster! What about these suitcases?" Cal hollered after her.

Gillian didn't hesitate or turn, and her shiny patent leather heels never missed a beat, even though she walked right over a giant, smooth, slippery, dangerous patch of ice.

"I'll set us up with rooms, Cal, and you bring those inside. You're a gentleman; I know you can do it."

Cal sighed huffily and unloaded his shabby, stained camo duffel bag and her gaudy suitcase, then picked up the tin of cookies. Gillian would murder him if he left those behind. He sighed again when he noticed that her suitcase apparently had decided to molt, covering his back seat in sparkles and sequins. "It looks like Mardi Gras without the fun," he snarked to himself.

Once inside, he found Gillian strutting gloriously up the stairs.

"Rooms 222 and 223," she said, turning round and beaming down at him, "and as soon as we drop our things off, we're going to dinner. I'm famished."

"Are the rooms adjoining? Connected?" Cal smirked.

Gillian cocked an eyebrow, looked down her perfect nose, shook her head exasperatedly, and carried on living her life and walking up the stairs.

After dinner that evening, Gillian waited until the waiter returned to their table with the dessert menu, then gracefully beckoned him closer with a few slender fingers. She whispered confidentially in his ear, then smiled enchantingly. He nodded, smiled, then walked away, dessert menus still in his hands.

"Oi! What's this all about, love?" Cal wondered. In all their years together, he'd never know Gillian to turn down desert. She had a sweet tooth a mile long. He still laughed about the time she said she wanted to jump in the wedding cake. Now _there_ was an idea.

Gillian grinned, showing off her perfect, straight, sparkling white teeth. "You'll see."

In a few minutes the waiter re-appeared with two enormous cream and blue-rimmed mugs of a steaming liquid.

Foster beamed again, obviously charming him as he cleared the table. She grasped one mug firmly by the ornate handle and rose, nodding to the waiter as she grinned at Cal and motioned him to follow her. Confused but eternally (well, conditionally, as long as it involved indulging Gillian and obtaining more genuine, eye-wrinkling, beatific smiles from her) patient, he stood, picked up his own beverage and trailed after her, her brisk, excited stride having left him far behind. His short legs were no help in catching up, either.

"Seriously, Foster? You didn't drink enough of this sugary poison last night?" he queried.

"Just wait, Cal." Foster sauntered over to the bar and gave the attractive, muscular man behind the sparkling clean counter her order. "Two, please."

Cal joined her just as the bartender set two shot glasses down on the counter. Foster dumped one into her mug, picked up a candy cane from the counter, and swirled it all together in her glass.

"Bailey's and hot chocolate is one of my personal favorites. If we hadn't been driving last night, there would have been alcohol in with your 'sugary poison.' Now drink."

Apparently Gillian had made quite the impression on the handsome young waiter, because he re-appeared several times throughout the evening with fresh mugs, earning increasingly appreciative smiles from an increasingly tipsy Gillian. Cal could feel his face flush and his hand clench every time.

At ten-o'clock, however, Gillian abruptly stood, wavered for a moment, then steadied herself by putting her meticulously manicured hands on the bar. "We're leaving now, Cal. We've had a long day, and the stars are pretty, and I don't want a hangover. We're still here working. Aaaand you owe me an apology for the look you gave me about this drink. You liked it."

"Oi, love, yeah. Yeah you're right, and yeah I did."

"And you're sorry."

"And I'm sorry."

"And this is the best drink you've ever had."

"Let's not get carried away, yeah?" Cal tried to stand and realized spiked hot chocolate carried a bigger punch than he'd imagined. He, too, swayed and caught himself on the expensive, polished wood bar.

Together they helped each other up the red plush carpeted stairs, only crashing into one another a handful of times. A small handful, like Gillian imagined Sophie's would be right about now. So not very many times.

Cal pushed open the large door marked 223 and he and Gillian stumbled in, nearly tripping over the floor. Cal helped Gillian onto the enormous bed with the thick maroon comforter, and sat down to catch his bearings. Gillian was already kicking her heels across the room and sliding under the covers fully clothed. It was adorable.

Cal slowly stood and walked back into the hall and into his room, by-passing the passage connecting their room because he knew Gillian valued her privacy. He fell on to his bed and was asleep almost instantly.


	3. French Hens

It was five o'clock the next evening, and Cal and Gillian stood in front of the shadier establishment, called simply "HOTEL" according to the worn gray sign on the door. A brilliant sunset was fading, and the evening light was etherized across the sky the way Cal had been on the table when he had his tonsils out seven years ago.

Gillian had insisted on carrying her own suitcase this time, and graciously held the door as Cal walked into the shabby but attractive and homey building.

As they approached the front desk, an attractive man stood up from doing a crossword, dropped his glittery blue pen, and nodded to Cal, then smiled disarmingly at Gillian. Her beauty seemed to glow, and Cal wondered how he'd messed up his karma so much that all the handsome men in the world happened to be in Vermont, working service jobs and flirting with _his_ best friend.

"What brings you fine people here tonight? Nasty weather, isn't it?" he asked, flashing Gillian another grin.

"There was no room at the Inn. We'd like two rooms, please. We'll be here three nights, probably." She smiled back, then took a step closer to Cal, clearly sending the message "I am not available so please don't embarrass yourself trying."

The clerk nodded, smirked, and began to pull out papers. Then he stopped, worried, "I'm afraid we only have one available. It's the busy season, and we don't have very many rooms to start with, so all the vacationers means the only room we have left is the bridal suite. Which is really just a normal room with a king-size bed and a couch."

Gillian nodded, her gorgeous blonde curls bouncing up and down. "That's quite all right. We didn't make reservations; I'm just pleased you have anything."

Cal smiled at her politeness. He thought back to how they ended up in this predicament.

FLASHBACKSCENEFLASHBACKSCENE

They had an early meeting, so they were up and ready well before eleven, the usual check-out time of hotels. However, while he was pulling on a black button-down shirt, one of three he had packed for their trip, he heard a sharp hurried tapping on the door adjoining their room. He quickly reached over and unlocked it, then went back to buttoning his shirt over his well-formed chest.

Gillian burst rapidly through the door, her face flushed a bright scarlet red. One manicured hand held a fluttering sheet of paper. "Read this, Cal," she demanded, thrusting the note under his nose.

Confused, and ignoring how cute Gillian was when she was acting like an agitated baby bird, Cal picked up the note and perused its message.

"Dear Guest,

Due to noise complaints from inhabitants of surrounding rooms, and our inability to contact you to request you settle down, we regret to request that you seek other accommodations for the remainder of your visit.

Sincerely,

Management."

"Just how drunk _were_ we last night, Cal?"

Cal shook his head. He didn't have a hangover, and he knew Gillian Foster _never _got hung over, so he didn't think they were exceptionally drunk, but…

"I do recall you commenting on the volume of the bedsprings, love." He also remembered catching the lamp but missing the phonebook she knocked over."

"It's not my fault! I've never had a bed that bouncy before," Gillian retorted. Cal could see they were entering the danger zone. Boy, did he want to steer clear of that danger zone.

ENDFLASHBACKENDFLASHBACK

Cal let himself into the cozy hotel room loaded with packages. He'd gone out to forage for food and came back bearing six containers of Chinese takeout, three of which contained mystery meat packaged in deceptively delicious breading, five containers of chocolate pudding, four suckers, three different drink options, two place settings, and a root beer slushie in a sparkling holiday cup.

He found Gillian humming tunelessly about the room, her laptop abandoned on the desk as she smoothed out the blankets on the bed.

"Oh, good, I finished in time," she said. "I made up the couch for you; we can take turns, but you get it first."

His hazel eyes darted around the room-she'd taken the enormous green comforter off the bed and doubled it up to serve as sheet and blanket and added two puffy pillows to the end of the orange upholstered monstrosity.

"Oi! Sure you can handle that bed, Foster? Don't want a repeat of last night, do we?"

She kicked one grey heel with a sparkling silver buckle across the floor at him. "Shut up, Cal. I'll admit it; sleep-drunkeness does not combine well with sugar highs and actual drunkenness. I'm not going to wake you up by jumping on the bed in a crazed fit of hyperactivity again, believe me. Besides," she added, "I already tested it. The springs are quite firm."

"And no more twirling around on the rug either, eh, love?"

"I said, 'Shut up,' Cal."

ATTDHS


	4. Calling Birds

_A/N: Yes, I am indeed two days behind. Bear with me. Catching up soonly._

_

* * *

_

Gillian stood in the lobby waiting, tapping one perilously tall, shiny black pump against the other in time with the music in the lobby. "Little Drummer Boy" was playing softly through the hotel's front room. Her clear, sparkling blue eyes swept the room, noting the fragrant fresh pine boughs heaped in corners and along railings and covered with glittery blue and white ornaments. A wooden crèche that looked to be hand-carved was set up on one out-of-the way table, and a banner proclaiming "Joy to the World" adorned the ledge before the front desk.

It'd been so busy last night, she'd hardly noticed the decorations, but now as she waited for an exceptionally tardy Cal to make his way down the stairs, she took them all in. The desk clerk noticed her scrutiny and spoke up.

"It's still Christmas season, you know. Some people leave their decorations up all the way to Candlemas day in February, but we like to leave them up here until Epiphany. Like to give the three kings their chance in the spotlight, you know?"

Gillian nodded, a smile spreading softly across her beautiful face. "It's very special. I always miss the Christmas music when it comes down so soon. They spend so much time preparing for the holidays, but then it's over so quickly."

Cal chose that moment to make his way down the stairs. "Sorry love, lost a button so I had to change my shirt."

Gillian shook her head at him and rolled her eyes. "Cal, you know I can sew, right? It's a part of being a woman. Like cooking and knowing which earrings to wear with which dress and which make-up."

"Yes, well, easier to just get a new shirt, ya kn-Oi! What is that?" Cal lopsidedly stuck one finger up above Gillian's head. The desk clerk smirked.

Gillian craned her long, slender neck to look up at the ceiling, noticing for the first time the green sprig of leaves with waxy white berries. "That, Cal, appears to be mistletoe."

The desk clerk smirked again. Then he tried to disappear when both Cal and Gillian turned full-fledged expressions of scorn and bad-assery on him. "Hey, that's been there all season," he muttered feebly.

Cal slouched down the remaining stairs,

Ambled over to Gillian,

Reached up,

And brushed some fuzzies off the lapel of her warm red pea coat. "There you go love, didn't want you going out in public looking like you had a run-in with a dysfunctional lint brush."

She laughed, and they turned and walked out of the building, striding quickly over the sparkling snow to the car as they tried to make it to their meeting promptly.

"And maybe, if we make good time, we can stop for _doughnuts."_


	5. Golden Rings

Gillian Foster stepped out of the car. Snowflakes were falling in earnest now, not the little tiny sparkles from earlier in the afternoon, but giant fat flakes that would have floated lazily if there weren't so many of them pushing each other down down down. They filled the air, and if one faced the north and looked out over the road where there weren't any trees, and turned their head sideways, the snow was falling so fast and thick that it looked like the static on an old television.

"Oi, Foster, you planning on staying out all night?" Cal's voice shook Gillian from her contemplation of the beautiful night sky. "I'm sure they have hot chocolate here. You could always test just how much patience this place has for guest who jump on the bed in the middle of the night and try to touch the ceiling."

"Oh, go on inside, Cal. I want to look at the stars."

He knew how much she liked stars. She talked about them every time she got wasted, didn't she? Of course. Never mind that she very rarely drank beyond the point of tipsiness. And with the crisp night air, the stars _were_ glittering beautifully tonight. Cal decided it couldn't hurt Gillian to stay outside a few more minutes, especially since she was so well bundled-up-she had a thick red coat, a cream-colored knit hat, and fat cream mittens that had sparkle thread woven in with the yarn-so he turned and walked into the HOTEL.

As he lifted one foot to go up the slippery concrete steps, something wet and hard and cold swiftly smacked into the back of his head. "OI!" he yelled out.

Turning, he saw Gillian ducking round the corner of the snow-covered hedge, grinning from ear to ear. Lucky for her she'd passed on her typical heels today and was instead wearing a more weather-appropriate, but still stunningly flattering, pair of low-heeled black boots. That way she didn't get her feet drenched, because Gillian was a sensible girl and used water-proofing on all possible footwear.

Scooping up a handful of snow, Cal balled it up and started after her. He was trying to peer over the top of the hedge and failing miserably when a new tightly-packed snowball whapped him upside the shoulder. He spotted Gillian around the other side of the hedge and quickly gave chase.

While she bent down to gather some more ammunition, Cal took advantage of the situation and let loose his missile. The snow splatted across the back of her coat, nearly knocking her off balance. Gillian would have fallen into the great expanse of fluffy whiteness had Cal not stepped forward just in time and caught her by the arm. Quickly she regained her footing, but before she straightened she used Cal's hand on her bicep as leverage and flipped him over into the snowy green bush.

"Oi, you consider that fair play?" Lightman groused from the depths of the shrubbery.

"Oh, Cal, fun is fun." Gillian reached one mittened hand out to help Cal up. In an instant, however, he wrapped his hand around hers and yanked hard, pulling her into the branches with him. On top of him, actually, as he had miscalculated the vector of his force.

"Ooof," he let out. "Maybe a bit fewer Christmas cookies?"

"Shut it, Cal." Gillian replied, pushing herself to a standing position and brushing at the snow that clung to her skirt and drenched her tights and sleeves. "You never should have started in on my drinking habits. You had it all coming to you."

Cal just grinned toothily up at her.

Gillian turned and walked towards the front door. "See you inside, Cal. And since I'm first up and going to be first to the room, I get first crack at the bathtub. You're going to have a mighty cold next hour."

"At least leave a towel outside the door for me, yeah?"

_ATTDHS_


	6. Geese aLaying

_A/N: The bread to my butter, recoilandgrace, would like me to inform you that Muse is really freaking amazing and the great Matthew Bellamy is a GQMF musical genius, no lie; HOWEVER, there are two Muse songs that she dislikes, and Neutron Star Collision (which she lovingly refers to as ~Neutron Star Annoyance~) is one of them. Enjoy the crack, laugh at the snark... but don't judge her bff Bellamy because of NSC/NSA, okay? okay. thanks! we now return to your regularly scheduled crack. xoxo, AJ._

* * *

_I was searching  
You were on a mission  
Then our hearts combined like  
A neutron star collision_

_I have nothing left to lose  
You took your time to choose  
Then we told each other  
With no trace of fear that..._

_Our love would be forever  
And if we die  
We die together  
And lie, I said never  
'Cause our love would be forever_

As they turned onto I-89 going out of Vermont, New Year's Eve was nigh upon them, and the upcoming year awaited them. Neither Cal nor Gillian had made plans for New Years; Gillian had intended to celebrate her singleness by staying in and doing absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, while Cal had merely been conniving plans to keep Emily under lock and key for the evening. She would be glad of the reprieve.

Instead, they were just driving down the snowy, deserted road in the gathering darkness, hoping and praying that all drunken party-goers would stay off the road for the night so they could make it home safely. The gathering snow storm looming in the distance posed yet another threat to their mortal bodies and anticipated arrival.

"_Blizzard watch in effect for the next seven hours in most of New England. Stand by for Vermont county list-"_ The announcer's crackling voice on the static-y radio cut off as Cal switched the station with a snort. The radio stayed on "seek" for several seconds, searching for a channel that would come through the pouring snow and wind. Eventually it settled on something, and the richly sparkling, genius voice of Matt Bellamy filled Cal's cramped car.

_The world is broken  
Halos fail to glisten  
You try to make a difference  
But no one wants to listen_

_Hail, The preachers, fake and proud  
Their doctrines will be cloud  
Then they'll dissipate  
Like snowflakes in an ocean_

"Oi! We'd better be back before this blizzard hits, or snowflakes won't be the only things dissolving. So will my patience."

Gillian reached over and patted his shoulder. "Hush, Cal. It'll be okay. Em's with Zoe; everything will be fine."

"If you say so, love," Cal acquiesced, but shook his head, unconvinced. A comfortable silence fell between them and Muse pervaded the car as they sped along the dark highway. Cal risked a glance over to the passenger seat, where Gillian sat lost in thought, her beautiful alabaster brow wrinkled as she pondered some apparently troubling conundrum. Cal was about to ask what could be troubling her when she sat up and turned to him.

"Let's switch the station."

"You sure? Because this sounds _very_ romantic. Just like one of those novels I know you like to read." He waggled his eyebrows at Gillian in a seductive manner.

"Please, Cal." Deep huffy sigh.

A silence as heavy as the glittering snow outside fell inside the car. Cal was half-tempted to look and see if Gillian had stamped her shiny black heel on the floor, but he restrained himself.

"Sorry. I just find this song really depressing, is all."

Cal nodded his scruffy head silently. "Too soon?"

"Too…what? Too soon? Oh," Gillian half smiled as comprehension dawned upon her face like a sunrise, if the sunrise was slightly painful and also had to do with a mis-reading of non-verbal communication. "Alec? No. Just…that's not what love _is._"

_Love is forever  
And we'll die, we'll die together  
And lie, I say never  
'Cause our love could be forever_

_Now I've got nothing left to lose  
You take your time to choose  
I can tell you now without a trace of fear_

"Is that so? I'd have though someone with your taste in literature would have found this quite appealing. 'We'll die together, love forever' or whatnot," Cal remarked, raising his brow.

"I have _excellent_ taste in literature, I'll have you know," Gillian stated defensively. "Just because I read romance novels _for fun_, on _occasion_, doesn't mean I don't know my way around the classics section of the library." She sighed deeply. "It's just, this isn't love. Love doesn't work that way. It's an effort and a risk and dying _with_ someone isn't the same thing as dying _for_ them, you know? You don't just make giant declarations and promise them the solar system. It's the little things."

She shook her head in frustration and rolled her gorgeous bright blue eyes.

_That my love will be forever  
And we'll die we'll die together  
Lie, I will never  
'Cause our love will be forever _

Cal nodded silently again and changed the station.

_Oh can't you see  
You belong to me  
How my poor heart aches with every step you take_

_Every move you make  
Every vow you break  
Every smile you fake  
Every claim you stake  
I'll be watching you_

"Cal, would you just TURN OFF the radio. Like, for real."


	7. Swans aSwimming

_A/N: Village Hall is amazing, y'all. And now I'm a poet. _

* * *

The promised blizzard came in with a vengeance. Visibility was nearly zero, and Cal had to fight to keep the car on the road. It was like some giant invisible being, like the wind, had tied a jump rope to the front bumper and was playing "snake" with it. Eventually he became concerned and started looking for a small town, village, or deserted castle to pull off into.

Gillian removed her phone from her high-fashion purse and began flipping through the apps, searching for the GPS. "We're fifty miles from anywhere, Cal. This isn't even the highway anymore." They were really and truly lost in a snowstorm.

"Well, we're not going to make it much further on the road tonight unless we do it as dead angels," Cal remarked. He would really rather keep Gillian in her angelically human form, all things considered. And he didn't think dead men appreciated scotch the way he did.

"The radio says it's supposed to keep up for a few more days. Funny how quickly this blew up so suddenly; if we'd known about it earlier we could have just stayed in Vermont while it passed over."

Cal gritted his teeth. "I heard the radio."

Just them, as if a good fairy had observed their plight and decided to step in with a wave of her glittering magical pink wand, Gillian spotted a mailbox at the edge of the road. "Cal! Pull over here. Mailboxes mean residences. Or businesses."

Cal slowly brought the car around on the dangerous, icy road and aimed it through the gap in the thick dark woods. Eventually they pulled up to a little cottage. Gillian gathered all the luggage she could easily carry, along with the precious tin of cookies that somehow miraculously still contained half its original contents, and headed in. Cal stopped along the way to gather any fallen logs and haul them inside, as he had noticed a large brick chimney, but no electrical lines. Or gas meters.

The snow fell fast and hard around the cabin, and the ice glittered as Cal made his way up the walk and through the thin wooden door. He couldn't see Gillian in front of him, but he could hear the click of her heels as she continued into the tiny house. He wondered how she made it inside in this insane weather without completely wiping out in the snow. Then again, she was Gillian Foster. Little wonder at all.

As he passed into the first tiny room, which, he noted, was the only room, outside of what appeared to be a miniscule bathroom partitioned off in one corner, he nearly tripped on a sheet of black ice and dropped the bundle of wood he was carrying. Gillian turned to catch him, proffering a sparkly-mittened hand. As the sticks clattered to the ground around them, he sensed a tension in her shoulders. Her gorgeous face was turned from him, so he couldn't read the message in her eyes, but the way she held her body bespoke a certain uneasiness.

"Oi, you all right there, love?" he murmured.

"Mmm? Oh, yes." But he could tell she was lying. He was, after all, Cal Lightman, and it was his name on the door. Somehow he managed to shove down his natural, tenacious curiosity and instead stepped inside, bolting the little door tightly against the wind.

Gillian piled her sparkly red suitcase and Cal's dilapidated dufflebag in the corner while he began to make a fire in the red brick fireplace.

In a tiny closet Gillian found several musty green sleeping bags, and she spread them out across the clean-smelling pine floors, piling all their clothes on top for additional warmth. The blizzard howled about the bungalow, rattling the windows and shaking the door, but soon both Cal and Gillian were soundly asleep in their respective sleeping bags, where they spent most of the first day of the new year. They slumbered steadfastly on, two little islands of peace in the midst of the violent storm raging just beyond the walls.

_ATTDHS_


	8. Maids aMilking

_A/N This chapter owes great thanks to Village Hall, monochromewords, gwassh0ppa, and recoilandgrace, for a veritable plethora of reasons. ~Significant~ ones. But all the mistakes are mine for not carefully editing. Slowly catching back up. We will get there.  
_

_

* * *

_By six o'clock the next evening, the raging blizzard still showed no signs of letting up. The two best friends had spent most of the day asleep, lulled into dreamless oblivion by the howling, whistling winds. Upon waking, Gillian discovered beautiful pine cupboards containing much more than Mother Hubbard's had; they were well stocked with rows and rows of canned goods. A significant number of shelves displayed homemade fruit preserves in glass mason jars, dated only the year before.

Water was plentiful, due to their conditions of imprisonment-Cal once opened the door to fill a washbasin with snow, and found himself standing before a foot-high impression of the door in a freezing glittery wall of it.

As the evening dragged on, Cal and Gillian began to consider the very real possibility of being stranded in this isolated, snowy, deserted cabin for several days. While food was adequate, entertainment was not. After a near-death experience by way of Gillian's glare at his first jesting remark, Cal decided to avoid even facetiously suggesting they pass the time in personal recreational activities of an intimate nature.

They'd done all they could to wrap up the case and paperwork without having an actual computer. Surfing the internet was not an option. Due to either the extreme weather conditions or the isolation ("Really, Cal, how do we wind up fifty miles from anywhere while it's snowing this hard? It's not like you were driving too fast."), their phones stubbornly refused to pick up a signal. Besides, Cal was sure Gillian would accuse him of looking up porn. He knew she knew his _real_ porn face, but still. She would have much too much fun teasing him.

Lounging on their sleeping bags, the room lit only by the fire and the flickering light of some fat violet pillar candles, the conversation lulled to a comfortable but dragging silence, the kind that happens after hours and hours alone.

"How about truth or dare?" Cal took a cue from the extraordinary number of slumber parties he had chaperoned. After all, they _did_ have sleeping bags stretched out across the floor. And there was, in fact, an old, cellophane-wrapped package of "No.1 Movie Popcorn" in the left cupboard. "We'll take it up a level. Truth defaults, dare for the forfeit."

Gillian rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and blew out a breath. "Fine. I go first."

Cal rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, too, but found it much less interesting than his partner's fascinating, flawless face. "Okay."

"How tall are you? Really?" Gillian quirked one impeccably styled eyebrow.

Cal stared back at her incredulously, his crazy intense hazel eyes nearly bugging out of his face. "Seriously, love? All the questions you've got at your disposal, and you go for that?"

Gillian smugly crossed her arms and looked squarely across at him. "Just answer the question."

Cal knew Gillian would read him, but he was confident in his ability to deceive her. "Five seven."

Gillian rolled her eyes again. "Oh, is that how we're going to play this?"

Cal sighed. "Fine, I'm five six, and your heels make it look worse," he admitted defeatedly. "My turn. How do you keep….that….up?" He waggled his finger back and forth in an up and down motion before her.

"Keep what now?" Gillian's eyebrows certainly were getting their exercise today.

"Your…looking so…you know…" Cal trailed off, waving his arm in a vaguely curving manner.

"My figure? Oh, was that so hard to say? Caught your attention, did it?" Her eyes glittered dangerously in the candlelight." I used to play pick-up basketball games with some girlfriends; now I do yoga every so often. Run a lot. Eat right-balanced diet. Lots of vegetables, lots of pudding. Plenty of orange slushies with vitamin C enhancing. Favorite drink?"

"Uh…uh…You play basketball, love?"

"You're the great Cal Lightman. Did I lie?"

Cal blinked. "Um. No. And vesper. Attracts the ladies." His eyebrows performed a salacious little dance on his forehead. "Do you match all your…" another frenzied fluttering of his hand "you know…underwear? To each other?"

Gillian's jaw dropped, exposing her perfect, white teeth. "Excuse me?"

Cal grinned, showing his own fantastic dental work.

Gillian's expression of incredulity quickly morphed into one of imperturbility. "Yes. They also match my sheets." _Smirk_. "Do you plan on using that information to cross the line?

"Wouldn't dream of it." And with that Cal lay back down on his sleeping bag before the crackling warm fire and wove his fingers behind his tousled hair.

A sincere, glowing smile tugged at the corner's of Gillian's red lips. She allowed it to creep across her face as she shifted her suitcase, brushed some wayward sparkles off the cookie tin, and opened it. "Care for another frosting masterpiece, Cal?"

_ATTDHS_


	9. Ladies Dancing

"Oi! Foster! Take this and tie it to the table leg." Cal handed Gillian a frayed end of a grey fraying clothesline and passed the coiled remainder over his shoulder.

"You really think this is a good idea, Cal?" Gillian looked worried. Extremely worried. Her concern was motivated partially by the fact that their wood supply was dwindling rapidly down to a few logs and the legs of the two ladder-back chairs, should necessity force them to vandalize the furniture of the little cabin. A significantly greater portion of that concern, however, was due to the solution Cal had decided upon. He would venture out into the waist-deep snow to gather what branches he could find, either those lying on top of the snow or those that his feet ran into as he bumbled about in the glittering ocean.

The pounding wind had not let up, nor had the blowing snow. Peeking out the door was like trying to see underwater when you are looking directly into the jet of a hot tub, and just about as painful. Shielding his face with his sunglasses and her fuzzy cream scarf had been Gillian's idea, but the clothesline was Cal's own brainchild.

"This is just how they did it in the old days, Foster. Out on the prairie, trapped inside because visibility was less than a foot, you'd just tie one of these up, use it as a lifeline, yeah?"

"And just how did you come to this information? Spend a few winters growing up in the Midwest?"

Cal knew the scorn in her voice was more disguised concern than genuine distaste at the idea of him growing up in a region notorious for "g-dropping," however linguistically incorrect that description was. Besides, he grew up fighting in England; she knew that. He never let her forget it, once he overcame his secrecy about the whole deal. "Nope. Pa Ingalls himself taught me this trick. Someone gave Em that _Big House on Plum Lake_ or what-have-you series. She made me read them over and over when she was tiny."

Gillian caught the tenderness etched across his normally inscrutable face and rubbed one dainty hand over his shoulder, roughly the same height as hers, now that she'd pulled on her low-heeled boots for the added warmth. They gave her a few extra inches. "Well, be careful, Cal."

Ten minutes later, he was back inside, teeth chattering loudly enough to provide the drum track for some insane new style of music. "Too-oo-oo sno-o-ow-y-y. Ca-an't see-ee-ee a thi-i-ing."

Gillian quickly unwrapped the stiff, frozen articles of clothing. "Get in that sleeping bag. Now." She ordered Cal next to the low orange fire and pushed the aforementioned bedding even closer. Quickly and efficiently she unpacked every article of clothing they had, tossing some to Cal to put on, layering a few more on herself, and spreading the rest over top of Cal's huddled form. With both duffel and glittery suitcase emptied, she pulled her own sleeping bag up, unzipped it into a giant monstrosity of a blanket, and heaped that over Cal as well. Next Gillian put on her pompom'd hat, wrapped Cal's own scarf, embellished with the colors of his favorite soccer ("It's football, love!"), around him, and slipped in beside her partner.

"Never thought you'd actually get me into bed with your sorry self, now, did you?" Gillian chuckled softly.

Cal slowly shook his head at her, though you couldn't tell particularly well because due to the extreme shivers wracking his body, he looked remarkably like the bobble head Cal Lightman doll they would have sold a few years back if he were a celebrity . Gillian smirked back.

They spent the night like that, periodically checking their cell phones to see if the torrential breath of the blizzard had died down enough yet for them to get a signal. As of midnight, it hadn't. So they chilled, literally, together in the sleeping bag by the fire.

_ATTDHS_


	10. Lords aLeaping

_One person who is awesome goes by the pen name of Village Hall. Thanks, dear.  
_

_

* * *

_

RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT Cal's drum beat was joined by a second, more delicate and refined chattering of teeth, waking him up at eight o'clock the next evening. Burrowed next to him inside the sleeping bag, Gillian was shaking violently, in a calm and classy way. The noise from her teeth clicking together as she shivered sounded almost like she was jump-roping in her favorite Lou Boutin heels on the smooth hard floors of the Lightman Group hallways.

Cal once more turned on his sneaky phone with the ninja decal on the back. He loved that sticker; he'd put it on there in honor of his partner. He was thinking of adding a new gangster, too. As the handy electronic device powered on, he prayed the signal interference had died along with the wind and their fire supply. The little deserted cabin was freezing now; he could see glittering icicles forming along the edges of the ceiling.

Gillian stirred as Cal waited for the phone to begin searching for a signal. "Oi, wake up love! Can't have you passing out on me!" Her eyelids fluttered, and after a few seconds her clear blue eyes appeared, minus their usual sparkle.

"It's cold, Cal. I think I might die. Would you cry for me?" Gillian's eyes searched his face as her hand wormed its way around his back and grasped his collar. "Would you be sad and come to my funeral? Don't be drunk, okay? I wouldn't be very happy if you showed up to my funeral drunk. Neither would Emily. I don't think Zoe would be pleased, either."

Cal stopped fooling around with his phone and stared hard at her, tilting his head to one side. "Oi! Let's not be talking that way, now, Foster. Head up and all, yeah?"

"Mmmmm." She nuzzled against his chest. "You'd be sad. I know you would."

Cal's internal monologue became very concerned. Very extremely concerned. Gillian was rambling like she had hypothermia. Granted, they both were freezing, but Gillian looked worse. He thought about trying to get to the car, but remembered that on his unsuccessful wood-gathering expedition, he'd seen a tree fall on the roof. Sad day. He liked that cute little roadster quite a bit.

His monologue stopped being merely concerned and gave free rein to his worry. What if the cell phone service stayed out? What if they couldn't get help soon enough? GILLIAN MIGHT DIE! That would be quite the downer of an evening. He'd have to live the rest of his life without her. (Cal might also have hypothermia, but he, of course, could never die from it. Cal Lightman was invincible. Impervious to anything. His only weakness was tapioca pudding.) Then who would manage the finances? Who would make sure quack lawyers wouldn't sue them for not meeting their obligations when he decided he had better things to do than honor contracts? Who would teach his daughter about sex and cooking? Who would give Loker and Torres permission to get the coffee they liked? Certainly not him. He could never do any of those things.

Gillian reached up and patted his cheek. "Cal? We have service now. The storm stopped interfering with the signal."

Cal silenced his egomaniacal panic and looked at his phone. "Oh. Right. Let's call someone up, see if they can get us out of here, yeah?" He dialed the number of emergency services.


	11. Pipers Piping

_Happy Whipped Cream Day, recoilandgrace! Gillian thanks you for the sugar high. _

* * *

At exactly 1:13:08 then next morning, just as Cal was beginning to think he might succumb to the terrible drowsiness brought on by the biting cold, the silence was broken by the sound of an engine making its way through the trees. This surprising noise was then followed by sharp pounding upon the thin door.

As he pulled the pieces of his scattered mind together and reached the conclusion that perhaps there was something important happening and that he'd better muster the consciousness to pay attention, the door burst open and he found himself face-to-face with...

"Alec? No, I kicked you out last night. No more coke in the bathtub, remember? Go 'way." Gillian's voice, sweet as bird song but also as weak and tremulous as a baby bird in March after it hatches too early, rose from the heap of clothing on Cal's left arm.

Cal did a double take at the plow driver who was still standing shocked in the doorway. With his scarf obscuring most of his face, it was hard to recognize Gillian's ex-husband, the faithful crack addict. But his piercingly intense, clear blue eyes shone out, unhidden by their usual glasses, which would have been cumbersome in this weather for a plowman.

"We got a call about two people trapped in a summer cabin out here. They honed in on your cell phone and sent me out because I have a plow. I was supposed to bring you all into the nearest town." Alec still looked shocked.

"Oi, let's go, then! I'm half frozen, and Gill's even colder," Lightman's words were colored more with relief than with the annoyance he would have shown any other time.

Alec strode across the floor and tried to lift Gillian. He mostly succeeded, and managed to carry her through the door to the cab of his giant orange plow while Lightman staggered after him. After piling blankets on top of them, he brought the engine to life and started back out across the glittering white wonderland, glancing every so often over at Gillian who would have been sleeping peacefully had Alec not given Cal instructions to shake her awake every time she dozed off. "Need both of you conscious."

The heat slowly began to thaw both Cal's brain and his tongue; before long he tilted his head seventy degrees and turned to Alec. "How'd you end up out here? Long way from your office, isn't it?"

Alec refused to rise to the bait. Casting a quick look at Gillian, he quietly remarked with a tone of defeat, "This is my new job."

Gillian chose this point to join in the conversation, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, the only powdered white stuff here is the glittering snow."

Alec chuckled. "True. And I get to spend more time on my new hobby, basket-weaving."

Cal stared incredulously. Gillian smiled indulgently. The plow pulled in front of the hospital.

Alec climbed down, helped Cal out the passenger door, then reached in to pull out Gillian. Once on the ground, she insisted on walking her ownself to the door. After three steps, however, one low-heeled boot wobbled on the ice, and she nearly took off Cal's head with it as Alec caught her. Right in the nick of time, the hospital staff got outside and rushed them in to get warm.

Within the hour, Cal was bundled up snuggly in blankets with only his constantly sideways head and hands sticking out. Alec was off to rescue more trapped travelers, now that the most important woman in his life ever was safe and warm, flirting with the nurse's aide to get extra whipped cream in her hot chocolate. Eventually the aide gave up and just brought her an entire can of spray whip cream, on the condition she would remain overnight for observation and convince Cal to do so as well. He agreed, but only if they could share a room because he really didn't like hospitals at all. The staff was fine with that, so that evening found Cal and Gillian in a double room, watching _The Grapes of Wrath _on television.

_ATTDHS_


	12. Drummers Drumming

_And we're finished. I'm getting out of the crack business, but will be eternally grateful to recoilandgrace and Village Hall for their roles in making me an addict.

* * *

_

A gentle tapping roused Gillian from a peaceful, happy dream about rainbow-colored kittens. "Doctors Foster and Lightman? You have a visitor." The nurse's soft voice filled the room, snapping Gillian into the waking world. "And here are your exit papers."

"Mmm? Okay." Gillian sat up and stretched daintily, then reached over and socked Cal in the shoulder. "Wake up, sleepy-head."

Cal came to his senses just as Alec Foster waltzed into the room, carrying a plate of chocolate frosted cupcakes with pink sprinkles.

Gillian clapped her hands. "Ooo! Cupcakes!" Alec grinned; Cal rolled his eyes.

"It's Epiphany, Gill. The three kings dropped them off at my house for you. Clearly, your sweet tooth is legendary." At Alec's explanation, Cal rolled his eyes harder.

Gillian shook her head at Cal's jealousy, her curls swaying gently. "Clearly, Cal, you've never been visited by the Magi." She picked up the cupcake with the most sprinkles and began unwrapping it. "Don't worry; I'll eat yours for you. No need to get upset." She deposited the green wrapper on the nightstand and began separating the frosting-laden top from the bottom.

Cal grabbed the sheaf of paperwork and began signing furiously as Gillian finished the bottom of the heavenly delicious cupcake and started in on the luscious chocolate frosting, licking the pink sugar sparkle sprinkles off with her rather cute and also pink tongue. Alec stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, looking hopeful and semi-chagrined by the attention Gillian was devoting to his cupcakes rather than his cracked-out-but-not-a-cheater self.

As Gillian began licking her fingers, Cal passed her the pen and spoke for the first time. "We can fly out of here in an hour and a half, according to the internet. The storm came through and cleared all the skies, so we should have no problem booking a flight."

"Not like we did on our way out here?" Gillian's subtle reprimand bit into Cal's conscience a little harder than he would have expected, due to the unfortunate situation his decision to drive had found them in. Also he was sad about the fate of his car.

"No. Now get dressed, love, and we'll be on our way. If your lovely ex would be willing to give us a lift to the airport..."

Both Alec and Gillian turned and gave Cal dirty looks. Alec's was like a boy on the school yard told he had to allow the girl full of cooties to play on his team, but Gillian's, Cal was sure, would have been deadly enough to kill a ferret from fifty feet away. Thank goodness he was just a weasel.

An hour later, they were standing at the airport gate, shaking hands with Alec the Narcotic Abuser. Gillian thanked him graciously and wished him a pleasant rest of his life far away from D.C.; Cal merely nodded at the man with the terrifyingly blue eyes. Alec turned back to his plow, recognizing that karma hated him and was teasing him with the memory of everything he'd lost. Gillian Foster was the best ever. She basically won life, and now he had to face the rest of his dreary existence knowing the chances of rescuing her from an icy death-by-glittering-blizzard and having her smile at him again were quite extremely low. The odds were actually approximately 4,720 to 1, worse than those for successfully navigating an asteroid field.

Cal faced Gillian. "You look nice, love, for someone who's spent nearly four days trapped in a cabin." And in fact, she did. She'd managed somehow to not wrinkle every article of clothing she'd packed the way Cal had ("It's called smart traveling, Cal, you should try being prepared sometime."), and she was wearing her sparkly silver heels.

Gillian smacked Cal lightly on the upper arm. "Hush."

As they boarded the airplane, Cal became suddenly sweetly serious. "Oi. You okay, love? Didn't upset you or anything, seeing Alec?"

Gillian shook her head. "I'm fine, Cal. Of course it hurts; that's natural. But I've moved on with my life." She was nothing if not painstakingly calm and collected.

Cal glanced sideways at her. "Fine, then. In that case, care to join me in the mile high club?"

Gillian swatted at him again. "Quiet, you. And for future reference, I am perfectly content and fulfilled as a single woman living on my own."

"I know, love. I know." Cal patted her on the shoulder and embraced her briefly before they sat down.

_And then they ~didn't~ have sex. _


End file.
